


You've Got a Friend in Me

by Kaddi



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, bullshitting the lancelot of the sea myth, did i say 'bullshitting' i meant 'repurposing', kinda enemies to kinda friends, this is pre 5 star quatre, yay water element buddies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 10:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17202065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaddi/pseuds/Kaddi
Summary: Quatre's journey of discovering the meaning of strength, aided by a certain knight.





	You've Got a Friend in Me

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank the NiGHTS Journey of Dreams ost for accompanying me on this long journey. I love you. I recommend 'Growing Wings', it's a good song.  
>  ~~Sorry not sorry about the title~~

“It can't go on like this, Quatre.”

Esser silently slinks to his side, one hand tentatively twitching against his elbow.

“I'd love a bit of context, sister,” he murmurs back. He taps her hip.

“We're here to learn. But you're avoiding everyone. Even Djeeta.”

He sighs, crossing his arms.

“I need time to think.”

A small smile plays on her lips as she faintly shakes her head.

“You've had more than enough time to think.”

Their ears twitch backwards.

“Oh? Do you make it a habit trying to sneak up on people nowadays, Captain?”

Djeeta chuckles and steps around them to face the erune siblings.

“I've gotten better, haven't I? Though that's beside the point, we're talking about your improvement - or the lack thereof.”

In an instant his ears flatten against his head. He grounds his feet against the wooden deck. All the while, his face remains calm.

“You're here to understand my power, not to pick flowers in your mindscape. Esser's right, you won't ever come close to beating me like this.”

Esser flinches.

“It's time to act!” She points a finger at him. “You'll never understand my strength like this.”

Just as abruptly as she came, Djeeta turns to leave.

“I'll surpass you!” Quatre yells after her.

“I'll be waiting for it.”

She waves at him over her shoulder and walks away.

 

* * *

 

Only when Djeeta has left his sight does he forcefully unwind his shoulders. Her superiority is an open wound she _really_ shouldn't pick at. He exhales and wills his frustration to leave with his breath. He repeats that motion a couple times more before he trusts himself to move without exploding. Dear Captain is so good at getting under his skin.

His sister remains quiet. Her hand is back at his elbow, a silent apology he doesn't need nor want. He _hates_ it. He hates that Djeeta is right. He _knows_ she is _._ He can rage as much as he wants, he could cry, he could hate her with his entire being, the fact remains – she is more powerful. She has something he lacks, it's just a matter of finding out what that is and acquiring it himself. That's just great, isn't it!

“I'll go cool my head,” he mutters.

He won't, but Esser doesn't need to know that. No, he'll go pick a fight, crush someone under his boot, and blow off the boiling anger creeping up his throat.

Djeeta shouldn't get to him as much as she does. She has a _point_ , they both _know_ she has it, it's one he's working on _fixing._ All of this, to get stronger, powerful. He _needs_ to be stronger to protect his family, to not be dependent on the goodwill and grace of others. It is a noble goal. None of that “power for power's sake”! He's not in this for honour, or glory, or a sadistic longing for violence. He does this to _protect_ , and he's _failing._

He storms through the Grandcypher, as far away from that bothersome captain as possible. People step out of the way, something he will be grateful for later. In his current state having to say “step aside, _pretty please, much obliged_ ” would tip the delicate hold he is keeping on his temper. No guarantee he would resort to the polite way. All that restraint even though he _is_ on his way to escalate his anger until it evaporates.

His angry march continues to the bridge where he finds a suitable target. One of those Dragon Knights. Blue armour, black hair, stupid smile. Twin blade user.

“You're a knight, aren't you,” he calls.

Quatre draws his blades and points them at his chosen enemy before the knight has even fully turned around.

“You need power if you hope to protect anything. I'll test if you have what it takes!”

“A duel with an Eternal? I don't know what brought this on, but it would be an honour. En garde!”

 

* * *

 

 

This is easy! So easy! Blow after blow the poor fucker is stuck on the defensive as he mindlessly barrages him. There's not even a need for strategy, he is so completely, utterly inferior!

Exhilaration pumps through him, his senses zero in on his target. He can already taste his defeat! The sweet look of despair and frustration on his face, the stench of sweat, the satisfying force of his own attacks. He is losing! The knight loses!

“Lancey!”

The sudden new voice staggers him, almost sending him crashing to the floor. Shaken out of his reverie all he can do for a couple agonizing moments is... nothing. His body comes to a complete stop, a dead sure way to get himself killed. Thankfully his opponent is just as distracted by the newcomer.

“Vane!?”

“Lancey, Siegfried just – oh. Oh! I'm sorry I didn't realise that -”

Quatre shakes his head to desperately get himself back together. All words are lost on him, the only focus he has is dead-set on regulating his breathing, forceful breaths hurting his lungs. Right, this is why people keep telling him giving yourself to anger is a bad idea.

Slowly, his senses return to him. He can feel the weight of his blades, the ground under his feet. He can see the blue knight, weapons held loosely in his hands. His attention is completely focussed on the bright Dragon Knight next to him, who in turn is gesturing dramatically. Quatre may as well be an island over, the amount of attention they're paying to him. Good. He takes one last deep breath. Time to compose himself and become 'a paragon of dignity'. Fuck Siete.

“Ready to continue?” he asks, voice carefully even, when he notices a lull in their conversation.

The blue knight nods and readies himself, shooing the yellow one to the sidelines. His arms are still decidedly shaky, yet the look of determination plastered on his face is new. How did that happen?

 

Whether it is from Quatre's new level-headed state or the endless cheers and encouragement shouted by the bright one, the knight pushes against him now. Quatre by no means has to be on the defensive, he's just not getting very far with his reckless blows anymore. It's infuriating.

 

The duel ends with the knight on his back, Quatre poised over him. Both are gasping for breath, bodies shaking from the exertion.

“You win,” he announces, as if there was any doubt left.

“No shit,” Quatre says. He eyes the dagger held against his opponent's throat for a moment. Confident he wouldn't start any crap he sheathes his weapons.

The knight levels him with a curious look.

“Spit it out.”

“Before this – you said you wanted to test me. Did you get your answer?”

Quatre scowls, finally getting up. He says a lot of things when he's not thinking clearly. He pretends to consider the knight's words, before simply saying, “I have.”

He leaves.

He has no question the knight could answer.

 

* * *

 

 

A couple of days pass before Lancelot sees Quatre again.

He had to ask Djeeta to find out his name. His armour made it obvious that he belongs to the Eternals, Djeeta has brought aboard enough of them for the rest of her crew to know. Quatre hadn't bothered to tell him himself before challenging him. Where did that come from, anyway? It just left him confused. Terribly confused. He tried to make sense of it with Vane after Quatre had stalked away, but they both came up empty. No one had ever tried to make him prove his worth as a knight out of the blue like that. He hadn't even known the guy's name!

Well, now there's a chance to find out. He finds Quatre on deck, leaning against the railing as he looks out onto the sky.

His steps are quiet. Yet the subtle twitch of the erune's ears tells him he's all too aware of his presence, though when Lancelot comes to a stop next to him he makes no move to acknowledge him.

Lancelot settles against the railing with his back to the sky, letting the silence stew. For all his curiosity, he hadn't thought of what to say that wouldn't get him blown off immediately.

“If your friend hadn't shown up, I'd have won,” Quatre unexpectedly says in a quiet voice.

It shakes Lancelot out of his thoughts. He studies Quatre's profile, but all he finds there is the same calm lacing his voice. No hint of the upset he saw so clearly on that day.

“'Would have'? You did win,” he says.

Quatre's face breaks into a frown.

“Not in the way I wanted to.” 'So it may as well not be a victory at all,' goes unsaid.

“Sounds to me like rather than testing me, you wanted to prove something to yourself.”

“What do you know?”

“That skill alone is not enough to be truly strong.”

He glances at the grimace now on Quatre's face.  
  
“Though I suppose you knew that as well.”

“Knight, I will give you one simple order. Leave me the fuck alone.”

Lancelot smiles crookedly in wry amusement. This went south faster than expected. So much for not getting blown off.

“Forgive me, I was rude. All I meant to say was that relying on people is a strength of its own.”

Quatre shifts, so subtly he almost misses it. His shoulders lower, his muscles tense. A threat.

“Learn your place,” he hisses. “Don't think you know anything about me.”

“I don't,” Lancelot agrees cautiously. “I didn't mean to imply I do.”

He sighs and pushes back from the railing.

“Just, think about it, okay?”

 

* * *

 

 

“Lancelot isn't a bad guy, you know,” Djeeta tells him. “You could learn a thing or two from him.”  
  
Quatre scoffs.

“What could some condescending knight teach me?”

“He has a name, Quatre.”

“I know that.”

“What else do you know about him?”

“What else _is_ there to know.”  
  
“A lot. He and you, you're not that different.”

He remains quiet, simply glaring at Djeeta. She heaves a sigh.

“He's not just Lancelot, esteemed leader of the Order of the White Dragon, and member of the famous Dragon Knights. Just like you're not just Quatre, member of the Eternals. He's also Lancelot, the commoner, the orphan.”

His ears perk up.

“You're shit at speaking cryptically,” he says.

Djeeta laughs.

“Can't say I hate it,” he admits with a biting laugh of his own.  
“Are you sure you should be telling me this?”

Djeeta elbows him.

“He doesn't exactly _hide_ it. I have it on good authority that I'm allowed to tell you. I'm sure _he_ 'll tell you his whole tragic backstory if you just _ask._ ”

 

* * *

 

 

“What did you not understand about 'leave me the fuck alone'?” Quatre says, resigned.

“Everything,” Lancelot says with a smile. “Bothering kids is my art.”

It's really not. He just saw Quatre eating together with (who he assumed to be) his sister in the dining hall, and decided to not let this opportunity go to waste. Even if that means crashing their breakfast.

“Not another one,” Quatre groans.

His sister smiles at his plight. She notes Lancelot's raised eyebrows.

“Our leader Siete is very much the same,” she offers as explanation.

“Please come sit with us. My name is Esser, you are?”

Quatre throws his sister a withering glare full of betrayal that she meets evenly. Quatre also glares at Lancelot for good measure before pointedly turning away from them to continue eating. Lancelot gingerly sits down across from them and introduces himself. Esser just offers him a shrug that _might_ be an apology. He's not sure.

“What's up with your obsession with me, anyway,” Quatre asks.

“Call it my fairy upbringing that lets me know I shouldn't leave you be.”

Now that garners interest. Suddenly Quatre's in his face, squinting and searching his eyes for any lies.

“If you're a fairy that's even less reason to put any amount of trust into you,” he says. “Explains why you're so fucking annoying though.”

“I was raised by them but I'm not one myself,” Lancelot amends.

“Explain how one comes to be raised by fairies.”

“When I became an orphan,” - he notes the siblings distinct lack of a reaction, so Djeeta really did tell them - “the Lady of the Lake took me in and raised me as her own. I returned to the human world when I was around ten years old. You can ask Vane if you want to know the exact year.”

He chuckles and shakes his head at the memory.

“As you can imagine it took some time to adjust to living among humans.”

“How did you meet Vane?” Esser asks quietly, cradling her mug. Any intention of eating now discarded. Quatre has returned to his seat but looks no less interested.

“He's the one who found me. The Lady didn't bring me back herself, I just... woke up at a lakeshore with Vane by my side. He was so worried about me he all but dragged me back to his village.”

Vane was so convinced Lancelot was actually dead that the village apothecary had to assure him three times that he was alive – and even then Lancelot had to confirm more than once that he lived.

Esser smiles tentatively. Quatre's eyes bore into him. His ears have long stopped twitching to catch every sound, now solely focussed on Lancelot.

“I can't do any magic like fairy folk can, and I wasn't gifted an artifact, though,” he says, sensing their unasked questions.

He almost laughs at the openly disappointed faces the erunes sport. Instead, he smiles with all the friendliness he can muster.

“I can tell you more some other time, if you want.”  
  
“We'd like that,” Esser says. Quatre nods.

They return to their meals after that, slipping into comfortable silence. For the first time since they met, Quatre doesn't emanate hostility in waves. For the first time he looks more like the youth he is than the all-powerful Eternal he has to be.

“Thank you,” Esser says, when they've all cleared their plates.

She never specifies for what, even as she quietly tells him their own history.

 

* * *

 

 

Is this really a crew, or has he somehow ended up in an orphanage?

First Fünf, then Djeeta and her twin brother, Lyria, now this Lancelot. Not to mention the bajillion kids Djeeta has picked off the streets somewhere. Does anybody on this ship have parents?

With Lancelot's offer to talk more fresh in his mind, he decides to pay back his rudeness and interrupt his dinner with that bright knight.

“I want to talk,” he says in lieu of greeting.

Lancelot looks up at him, blinking a couple of times before realising his words. The bright smile previously on his face is now replaced by a small one.

“Sure,” he answers easily. “What about?”

“You.”

Lancelot hums, exchanging a quick look with the other knight.

“Then sit down,” he offers.

Quatre scoffs.

“I thought it was a given that I want this to be _private_.”

“Vane's family!” Lancelot laughs.

All the same, he gets up to join Quatre, but not before reaching over the table to pull 'Vane' into a decidedly awkward hug. Why he couldn't just move _around_ the table was a fact that eluded him.

“Are you done?” he asks dryly, delighting in the small blush on Lancelot's face when he pulls back.

“Good to go,” Lancelot answers, clearing his throat.

 

Quatre leads them out on deck, to where Lancelot first bothered him. Not many people are on deck, the crisp December air driving them indoors where it's warm. Somewhere _Quatre_ could have been right now if not for the knight.

Lancelot leans on the railing in much the same way he had done that day, with his back to the sky.

“Why did you join Djeeta?” is what he finds himself asking, what he had _wondered_ , sure, but never wanted to know.

Lancelot doesn't seem to mind him jumping into questions without preamble, just shrugging good-naturedly.

“She visited my country a couple of times, and was always quick to aid us during times of crisis. She... made me realise there are things I still lack, and I figured her crew was as good a place as any to start working on that.”

Quatre bites back a laugh at the thought of their meddlesome captain forcing her way into yet more trouble.

However...

“So you abandoned those in need of your protection,” he states.

Quatre, fully prepared for a sharp glare or biting words, desperate self-defense or vicious accusations, is completely thrown off when Lancelot does not do any of that. He just sighs, craning his head to look up to the clouds above.

“I didn't.”

“Then why are you here and not guarding your kingdom?”

“Quatre, Vane and I aren't the sole knights protecting Feendrache.”

Quatre raises an eyebrow. He knows that. To be the captain of an order of knights logically there _have to be other knights._ Pawns, more like. Fodder to throw at the enemy.

Lancelot's gaze snaps back to him.

“I'm here because I trust them. I trust them to protect the kingdom while I'm away, and I trust them to inform me if there's any trouble.”

The smile crawls back on his face.  
  
“And in return, they trust me to fulfil my duty.”

“Let's fight again,” Quatre says.

“Right now?”

“Of course.”  
  
“And here I thought I finally got you to listen.”

“It's way too early for you to start joking with me.”

“But there will be a time when I can?”

“Just shut up before I punch you.”

“Then I'll go first.”

This time when they decide to randomly duke it out on the ship's deck Quatre does not fight himself into a frenzy. His weapons require a close range but he can count on one hand the number of fist fights he's been in, while he has long lost count of how many people he beat over the head with his blades. So he can't really afford to lose any control.

Lancelot on the other hand is plenty experienced. So experienced that when Quatre _finally_ manages to launch him on his back and incapacitate him, he laughs, not seeing him as a threat.

“Last time I couldn't read your attacks,” he says, trying to wiggle out of Quatre's grasp. “This time? You may as well have shouted them.”

Quatre snarls. He would have let him go, but now Lancelot's got to squirm some more.

“I'm used to dealing with melee fighters,” he says in defence. He's just not one himself.

“Then what if you end up in a fight, for whatever reason, in which you can't use your daggers?”  
  
“That won't happen.”

“Why?”  
  
“I'm powerful.”

“You had a lot of trouble with me. Again, what would keep you out of trouble?”

'Esser' is the first word that shoots through his mind. His sister, who is unfailingly by his side. Didn't he say it himself? Back when Djeeta had to stop him from killing that mafia guy for giving drugs to kids. Djeeta was there to -

Oh for heaven's sake.

With a huff he gets up, lightly kicking Lancelot for good measure.

“You win this time.”

Lancelot laughs.

“Pretend I don't know what you mean.”

“Pretend you're smarter than you are and leave me the fuck alone.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> this ended up being so long!! but it's finally done! I had a lot of fun writing this <3
> 
> I tried to make a clear distinction between 'strength' and 'power', in that power is physical while strength encompasses more - namely, being able to rely on others.
> 
> I'm on twitter [@KaddiCrescent!](https://twitter.com/Lanzelilot)


End file.
